OU wait in the blind in the cold, gray dawn. The 
wind, whistling through the canes, ripples the water, 
and the decoys spread before you bob restlessly. Dark 
clouds scud across the distant horizon, driven by the 
wind. . . the hint of a storm is in the air. And now, 
across the marsh, a flock of ducks rises from the spot 
where they have been feeding, sheltered from the chill 
autumn winds. They have sighted the decoys and turn 
toward you, chattering in duck language of the tender 
shoots, tubers, grains, and grasses that abound in this 
place. They circle ... once... twice... they're 
coming in... steady... steady... NOW! You know 
the rest of the story. Will this be the scene on your 
waters next fall? The answer is up to youl 
